Hermione's Lover
by Cliodna
Summary: Ever read Robert Browning?


Disclaimer: I own nothing! Don't sue!

_Authors Note:_ This little cynical piece is a result of reading too many Robert Browning poems. If you haven't read my angsty ficlets _Envy_ and _Regret_, doesn't matter! You don't have to, they have nothing to do with each other although there is a slight reference here that may make it seem like they do. Anyways, enjoy! 

v v v **Hermione's Lover**

It was a rather dark and dreary night, dark and dreary like his soul. The storm outside resembled the turmoil in his heart, the turmoil caused by waiting…waiting…for _her_. Waiting for _her_, who did not know he was here waiting. 

He sat there in his chair, in front of the cold and empty hearth, a glass of brandy by his side, memories of years gone by passing through his mind, everything clicking into place. 

Deep within him he had always known, always felt the truth. He could have stopped this long ago, could have set everything to rights, but he didn't. He couldn't. He just _wouldn't_. 

Accepted the lie he had, and now he could avoid it no longer.  

When she finally arrived, she closed the storm out from behind her. Seeing him waiting there, her startled eyes watered with surprise and understanding. _Oh my god,_ she thought. _He knows!_ However, the logical side of her told her that it was unlikely that he suspected anything. How could he? 

Trying her hardest to maintain a perfectly composed facade, she decided to keep herself busy by lighting the fire in the grate, lest her face reveal her fear and confusion. 

She was very much aware of the blue eyes following her every movement. Eyes like a hawk they were, pierced and pointed, looking upon their prey, devouring with sight. He did not utter a word; he had not uttered a word since she came in. No warm embrace was offered her today. 

His eyes made her nervous. 

But she had nothing to worry about she kept telling herself. He couldn't possibly know… 

The doubt was growing in her heart, her stomach felt heavy; her head felt dizzy, her mind was racing! But still, she did not give this away. With a weary spirit and wan smile she sat next to him. Her sudden closeness did nothing to him; he did not move; he did not speak. His eyes remained fixed on the dancing flames, the fire playing with his hair, making it redder and more fiery than ever. 

Oh the dread! The dread that had been growing within her very slowly soon spread throughout her body and threatened to overwhelm her! In an effort to elicit a response from him, she rather seductively let down her hair, her brown hair cascading in curls down her back. Seeing no reaction, she slowly began to unbutton her blouse, slowly, beckoning to his eyes the way a siren beckons sailors to their watery graves. 

At long last he turned to look at her. She grinned in triumph when she saw this! But soon enough the triumph ended. He stood up from his seat and went to stand by the fireplace. 

It could not be avoided now; the confrontation was upon them. _He knows_, and there is nothing else to do but face the consequences. 

She got up to stand beside him, placing her hands on his shoulders. The sobs escaped her freely now; she could no longer contain them. 

He turned around to look at her, the question in his eyes. _Why? How could you? Did you not think I would find out? Did you think I'd be fooled by the red in our daughter's hair? Did you not think I'd see the green in her eyes…? _

Hermione sobbed loudly into her hands. _I'm sorry!_ She thought, _I'm so sorry! But I love him! I'm sorry…_

Each was too afraid to voice their thoughts, but each knew what the other was thinking. 

Ron, who could no longer stand Hermione's sobs, relented and opened his arms to her. She readily accepted his embrace, and soon dampened his shirt with her tears. 

With her in his arms, Ron contemplated the story of his life. His life began and ended with Harry; Harry who always got the fame; Harry who was the wizarding hero; Harry who was everything he ever wanted to be, and now has _everything_ he ever wanted. 

He thought he had succeeded in one thing, he thought he had retained some sort of happiness in his life, something Harry hadn't taken. 

_But he was wrong. _

Harry had succeeded in taking his wife's heart, but did he take it, or was it his in the first place? 

Ron smiled a cynical smile at the irony, and tightened his grip on Hermione. 

Yes, Harry had her _heart_, but Hermione was _his_. Hermione would _always_ be _his_. 

Without a second thought to what he did, Ron grabbed three strands of long, brown curls. 

Three times he wound them around her neck, and _strangled her_. 

She resisted a lot, she put up a hard fight in fact, but Ron was stronger. 

The deed done, he carried her lifeless body back to his chair and sat her down. He kissed her cheeks and her hair, caressed her lovingly, and sat with her until dawn. 

******

Fin!

Weird I know…but I was in a weird mood. 


End file.
